


Shatter

by SkySamuelle



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:03:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkySamuelle/pseuds/SkySamuelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future Fic:  Bonnie and Damon are forced to share the same motel room during a quite distressing roadtrip. The results are… interesting to say the least. And dirty.Written for THE FIVE ACTS MEME- ROUND 3- Sleep and bedding themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Spoilers: vague spoilers for season 2. Warning for sexual situations ahead.  
> AN: Written for THE FIVE ACTS MEME- ROUND 3- Sleep and bedding themes (sharing a bed by necessity such as in a hotel with only one room left; sharing a sleeping bag for warmth; accidental spooning, sex while drowsy; sex as a sleep aid; arousal from proximity; morning wake-up sex, falling asleep against someone's shoulder; watching someone sleep).
> 
> AN2: This is probably the filthiest thing I've written in long, long time. So be gentle.

One predicament Bonnie Bennett has always steadfastly believed she would _never_ find herself in is being on a roadtrip with Damon Salvatore, _alone._ That was a misfortune reserved for Elena, Stefan, Alaric, and whoever else managed to stand putting up with his crap.

Bonnie has never had much patience for him or his compulsive liar/sleazy asshole/murdering psycho antics.

Even now that she can no longer define him as her enemy, after all the times they had each other's backs in what she remembers as 'The Klaus Ordeal', she would never mistake him for a friend.

The old resentment and loathing are gone, swept away by time, new habits, and a deeper understanding of how his head works… but there's a wariness that still lingers on her end, stopping her from calling their truce as anything other than what it is.

There's no amicability in their relationship, and often she thinks there never will be. Every single time the older Salvatore enters a room, her body responds, tensing in an awareness the witch doesn't entirely understand. Her senses, around him, are constantly on alert – warning her to pay attention to the slightest shifts in his demeanor. It's not _only_ the reaction of a witch in the presence of a possible threat … it's also the basic response of female to male, because Damon projects his sexuality to the outside world in a way that is almost animalistic and entirely intentional. It's just another weapon in his arsenal, and yet another reason to dislike him whole-heartedly.

He is a master manipulator, a liar, a cheat, a murderer, and a male slut- basically the last person Bonnie would wish to depend on for her safety.

But-story of her life- she gets no choice in the matter.

Her powers have been behaving erratically since about last month –going on overdrive at the slightest provocation and then leaving her drained of any energy and virtually defenseless for days. Coincidentally, someone has also been sending bizarre, magically created beasts to kill her. In other words, someone has probably placed a curse on her in order to weaken her long enough to kill her. Bonnie has no idea why since every Bennett witch she knows has apparently gone into hiding. And since this mess presents itself as a family matter and Damon claims to have a past as a protector of her bloodline… he might be the only one able to help her track the current matron of her clan, a distant cousin to Grams Bonnie has never met.

So, for the past two weeks Bonnie and Damon have been traipsing all across the country in his car, trying to find out where the hell Sage Bennett and her daughters have holed themselves.

All while dodging attacks from before-mentioned monstrous creatures and bickering in their spare time.

Bonnie is already exhausted whereas Damon –probably only appearing so just to be contrary- looks like he is having the time of his life.

And if she thought she was in trouble in the beginning when he wrung a promise out of her that, if he did this for her, she would 'owe him one'… she understands she had not fully evaluated the risks of their arrangement until the night they are struck sharing the last free room in a low class motel. No other option available since the dreadful place is the only one available for miles – at least if they want to avoid wasting time by abandoning the interstate 285th South.

It's such a cliché that it feels unreal, even while Bonnie lays down on the king sized bed, reclining on her side and staring at the wall sightlessly, too focused on the sounds of Damon showering in the adjoining little bathroom to even entertain full, coherent lines of reasoning.

 _This is going to be so awkward and embarrassing._ –she thinks, feeling very naked despite her habit of sleeping in yoga pants and an oversized Nightwish shirt.

The truth is that her attire makes her feel very much like a little girl, whereas she needs to approach this situation with a woman's cool-headedness and maturity.

It's not the first time they have shared a room – there were days when her powers were off, and he needed to be close by in case she was attacked overnight- but this is the very first time they are going to be forced to share _one_ _bed_.

Damon being Damon made fun of her embarrassment already on the way up from the reception, so the last thing she wants is to give the asshole one more reason to act even more like a worldly, collected dickhead forced to deal with a neurotic, uptight girl.

She needs to stay and… not hyperventilate.

Take small, regular breaths. Inhale, exhale. It's not like he is going to bite her as she sleeps.

The trick actually works until the bathroom door suddenly opens and Damon saunters out, singing under his breath, clad in only a towel that hangs dangerously low on his protruding hipbones. He grabs his boxers from his bag and then whisks back to the bathroom, seemingly ignoring her. Bonnie knows better than to buy his act. Everything is a show with Damon Salvatore, and he terribly enjoys being the protagonist of every act. He would never let pass a chance to make her uncomfortable.

As a matter of fact, he left the door open and now she can hear everything…the rustling and the moving as he towels his hair and dresses for the night.

Annoyed, Bonnie uses telekinesis to slam the offending door shut, even knowing that he is probably going to laugh at her uptightness again on the other side of it.

She doesn't care, obviously, but this doesn't make it any easier for her to just relax, close her eyes, and sleep. When she tries, the image of Damon's bare-chested body haunts her from behind closed lids, pale and flawlessly toned like it was sculpted from marble, not flammable flesh. It's truly a shame someone so outwardly beautiful is also such a mess on the inside.

She is still pretending to be asleep when he returns, turns off the lights and climbs on the bed.

Bonnie's heart almost stops when his weight sinks the mattress, and she bites the inside of her cheek, hoping against all hope he is not listening to her increasing heartbeat.

But if Damon notices she is awake, he doesn't say anything about it. Minutes elapse and she can't neither move nor relax, only to stay there frozen in a fetal position.

She is just too fucking _aware_ of his presence, of the distance between his body and hers, of every passing second in this too heavy silence.

Damon drags himself closer so there's only few inches separating them, and she can both feel and hear his breath on her hair. It is so weird to reason that he is technically dead but still breathing…

His proximity makes her skin itch, and her limbs ache to twist away. There's that weird tension in her body again, like she is under attack and preparing to fight back, and as the familiar heat spreads from her tingling nerves to her skin she wonders if he feels it too, or if it's always been a one-sided thing…possibly a witch thing. She would prefer that, because it would make it justifiable, nearly easy to manage.

At last she gives up and stops pretending, rolls around so they are face to face just to be startled when her visage is so much closer to his than she expected. Instinct would have her retreating but Damon's arm shoots out and his hand closes firmly around her elbow, keeping her in place.

His eyes are blue and predatory, unwaveringly focused on hers, and they transmit something very primal to her very core. She can't look away.

For a while they stay like that, just looking at each other, into each other, his palm cool on her warming skin.

He is too close, and Bonnie both hates it and wants more of it. Mostly, she needs to understand that this is once and for all, and she is impatient but scared shitless too, so she doesn't move.

At least until the vampire cups her cheek, long fingers caressing her skin softly like they were studying its texture.

It's a token of affection she often received from Jeremy in the past when they were an item, but whereas Jeremy's touch used to warm, Damon's _burns._

It makes her uncomfortable, to know his vampire eyes can see perfectly well in this darkness whereas her human ones can't, and she has no idea what he is finding reflected on her face, because she, right here and now, doesn't know her heart at all. She supposes she could flip the lights on with her power if she wanted to, but uncertainty is making a coward out of her.

She feels weak and brittle and afraid of knowing what feeling she would find on _his_ face. Darkness is the last protection she has left.

Damon gently smoothes her wayward curls away from her temple, then cups her nape and rubs his mouth against hers, pushing his tongue between her lips greedily when he finds her compliant to his kisses.

Bonnie moans, a needful, shaken sound that rips from the back of her throat, surprising her.

She tries to make up for it, sucking hard on Damon's tongue, giving back as good as she receives.

Everything in her body opens up and burns, and she is not herself anymore. Her arms wrap around lean bare shoulders – Damon sleeps in boxers and nothing else, she has learned- and her breasts flatten against his chest while he hovers between her spread legs, his hardness brushing against her hip.

Bonnie literally springs away from him as she realizes where this is going, half-terrified of her body's unannounced but complete betrayal, half-angry at the sudden loss of bodily contact.

"Get off me!" she gasps, frantically disentangling her limbs from his and he exerts no effort to oppose her.

"Oh my god," she breathes out raggedly, hiding her face between her hands.

This is nothing like it's supposed to be. It was just a kiss, but it felt like sex and now her loins ache sweetly, the sticky wetness between her thighs unmistakable for anything other than what it is: arousal.

She is unprepared for the fingers that thread through her hair in a misplaced attempt to soothe.

"Easy here, kitten."

Even his voice sounds husky, not quite as smoothly seductive as he is trying to make it, and her sex clenches in response, demanding attention.

"Don't touch me-" she shoves him away from her by his shoulder, wanting desperately to purge herself of those uncomfortable emotions that transform her into a stranger to herself.

Damon huffs audibly in a way that has her imagining him as he rolls his eyes at her stubbornness and in a blink and blur of motion, the witch finds herself with her back pressed to the mattress, her wrists pinned above her head by one his hands.

"Say that when the scent of your soaked pussy _isn't_ fogging up the room. You might actually be credible," he drawls, his free hand diving under her shirt to stroke her stomach. Everywhere his palm meets her skin is sparks and sensory overload.

"I will set you on fire!" she promises harshly, thrashing under his larger frame and hearing the menace in her own voice makes the damp heat between her legs flare higher. Another sure sign that this is going to get very wrong, very fast if she is not careful, but even that foreboding thought ignites her with hunger.

"Do it," he commands, far too nonchalant for her liking. "Give me an aneurism, throw me across the room. You're a witch: _fight_ me for real. _Make_ me to stop."

His hand creeps up and cups her braless breast, kneading slowly before thumb and forefinger squeeze a large nipple, trace the outline of it from the areola to the tip, waiting to feel it puckering and tautening to squeeze once more.

Her back arches into his touch and she feels it again, the inner fire licking at her skin, taking her breath away and filling her with a trembling need to lose herself to the flames.

"You won't stop me," the vampire continued in a cocky purr, leaving her hands free so he could help her out of her shirt. "In fact, I bet you'll allow me to do _anything_ I like to you, because the truth is…"

Goosebumps break over her bare skin as the air hits her chest, and she closes her eyes against the caresses that soon cover her over-sensitized breasts. "…you've denied this long enough."

"I don't like you," she protests stubbornly, despite knowing the truth is far more complicated than that. On some accounts she despises him, on other accounts she envies him, but on still a few others… she _needs_ him. Hard as it is to admit, it's true.

"My naïve little witch. So willful…"Damon chuckles, lowering himself so he can flick his tongue over her sternum, tasting the valley between her tits before licking his way up to her throat.

"So strong," he murmurs, nipping at her jaw. "So combative especially when it comes to me, to keep me in line like a good little soldier…"

"Nobody else will do it," Bonnie whispers her tone just as low, and for a moment it feels like they are trading secrets. She grinds her hips against his, crying out at the feeling of his erection coming to nestle between her open legs.

The desire of touching him is almost painful now, and she holds on his shoulders, her nails digging in the smooth, beautiful flesh remorselessly so she can grind harder, groan louder.

"Does this scare you, Bonnie?" his voice is a gravelly verbal caress that echoes in the darkness of the room to fall on her soul, and it's a strange dichotomy, the way his words imprint in her mind while his touch brands itself on her body just as strongly. "Aren't you terrified that someday you might forget where the boundaries are and have nobody to bring you back from the edge? Who will keep _you_ in check while you keep everyone else?"

His head dips down and his mouth fastens around her nipple, sucking alternatively hard and soft, and for some stretch of time she loses her mind, blanking out under a wave of pleasure.

Then she smiles drowsily. "I have you," she finally admits. "As long as you keep fucking up, I remember who I am."

It's liberating to ultimately own up to it. As the day is defined by the night's very existence, Damon's presence in her life keeps her remembering the difference between right and wrong, even while her power keeps growing and becomes more addictive. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, they say, but when Damon is here, she can play the light to his shadow.

"Don't I deserve a thank you for that?" he suggests allusively, starting to push her yoga pants down her legs.

"Maybe..." she trails off, spreading herself wide in invitation once the pants are off and thrown carelessly on the floor.

Soon Damon is on her again, crushing his lips to hers demandingly, taking her visage between his hands as he starts to kiss her deeply. She kisses him back with all the fury she has never gotten to express and all the relief of having finally found someone who understands.

It's inconvenient as hell that this is happening with _him_ of all people, but the one thing that truly matters is that she no longer feels that sense of inherent separation and solitude she has been getting used to during last two years.

She is not surprised at the ripping sound that precedes the feeling of her underwear being torn away or the immediate rolling of her hips against his probing hand.

There's no hesitation in his touch, no shame in her heart. It should be shocking that she is allowing him to even graze her most intimate parts, but this intimacy feels just so natural, effortless.

Bonnie gasps as two of his fingers sink inside, and curl there like they are testing her. Her slick walls flutter around those invading elements and Bonnie can't help pressing her thighs together, entrapping them, increasing the friction.

Damon smiles against her cheek, dropping an open-mouthed kiss there.

"Someone is eager…" he teases, a purring note behind the smugness of his tone.

"Someone else is a son of a bitch," she singsongs with far less causticity than she's used to in dealing with this vampire, hips bucking as she grinds purposefully down on his fingers.

He caresses her slit with his thumb, growling at her wetness with a beastly edge that makes it truly, truly hard for her to not cum right there.

And then he gets his fingers out of her cunt and puts them deep inside his mouth, sucking her juices with a transparent enjoyment of himself that manages to be equally arousing and disturbing for anyone watching on, _namely her_.

It was another of those moments where her brain blanked out. Her whole body hums with delight and lust, and she knows it must show right through her expression from the very sinister light that burns behind his gaze.

"Turn around now, please," Damon slurs, accompanying the request with an overtly dramatic sweep of his hand.

She wonders what is most incredible – what he is actually asking, even if in a mocking way or that she is actually complying with his request without adding a word.

Yet here she is ass up in the air as she braces herself on her elbows without even having the decency to feel demeaned or belittled.

Damon runs his cool palms over her buttocks, a sort of possessive gentleness coming through his lingering touch. The witch sways at the contact and renewed intensity of her desire. She has never considered it was even possible to be drunk on lust until this very instant, but that's exactly how she feels. He grips her waist to steady her, sneaks his hand beneath the soft curves of her ass to roughly cup her cunt.

Clutching blindly at the sheets, Bonnie leans back into his hands, hissing as she receives a swift slap on her ass for her trouble.

"Don't push it, Salvatore," she warns, despite the pretty humiliating certainty that she is wound up so tight that she would do virtually anything for release right now.

"Hush, babe," the vampire growls, not without a certain reluctant affection. "I promise you, trusting me here won't kill you. Not _literally_ anyway."

"Will you stop with the nicknaming? I find it so-" _aggravating,_ she wants to say, but she doesn't get to finish the phrase. "-Oh! "

Fingertips press on engorged nub, stroking it right the way she needed, and it feels like heaven.

Bonnie bites on her bottom lip, swallowing a particularly needy whimper and her vision clouds: she is so damn close!

When he asks, "Would you like to come for me right now?" in a perfectly polite, impossibly serious intonation, it doesn't even occur to her to laugh in his face. The softly panted, "Yes," is out of her mouth before she realizes the absurdity of it.

"Good girl," Damon nods, and she has no time to complain because his wonderfully talented fingers are quitting their lazy, eye-watering circles on her clit to part her wet folds.

His thumb trails indolently up and down between the cheeks of her butt, causing her to wriggle helplessly. Having him touch her _there_ is not entirely unpleasant, she decides, just very strange and well…not something she has experienced before, _ever_.

The witch grows completely still as she feels his touch linger a bit too long over her anus. Her glassy eyes unfocused ahead, gasping while the vampire rhythmically strokes both her openings.

She finds herself rocking in synch with him, enjoying the sensual torment he is inflicting on her.

Later, thinking back to this moment, the witch will be surprised that she was so comfortable with him their first time together.

Now there's just an unfinished, terrible pleasure, hovering her over the brink of completion.

"This," Damon tells her with imperious quietness, increasing the pressure on her slit and her asshole at the same time, "is mine from today on. Don't forget."

The words don't fully register within the haze of her mind, but they leave her shaking inside nonetheless, lost and pleased, cherished and frightened.

It's so profoundly disconcerting, when his fingers thrust inside her roughly. Her body tenses at the double invasion but she can't think at all, just feel. Feel _Damon_ reach deep into a place of her body nobody else has ever claimed. Feel _Damon_ fuck her so deeply she can imagine feeling him in her belly. Feel _Damon's_ hushed endearments lull her into ecstasy.

Feel _Damon's_ lips and tongue on the small of her back, suckling on her sweaty, burning skin.

Feel _Damon's_ fangs on her thigh when he kneels down, still double-penetrating her relentlessly at an even deeper angle.

His bite adds a pain that brings this madness to its blinding completion, and as his canines sink into her flesh and her blood slides down his throat she can feel him _everywhere_. In and out of her, Damon is there –a divine violation that shatters everything she has been so far into a thousand pieces.

Shaking, she becomes aware of everything again in his arms, cradled tenderly in his lap like a beloved child. They are sitting in the middle of the bed and his cock is hard against her stomach.

Bonnie takes him in her hand, drinks in Damon's sounds of satisfaction as she works him, smirks at his growl of disappointment when she abruptly stops. Kissing him sloppily, she feels like she fell in a trance. She holds onto his shoulders and impales herself on his dick slowly, loving his bruising grip on her hips.

Here it is again, the rapturous darkness that spreads from her blood to her soul. Pleasure and pain. _Love._

A love she can't explain or fear, but just experience.

Damon pulls her tighter to his chest, calls her 'the most beautiful, filthy little thing' he has ever seen.

Fleetingly, she wonders if he even understands that what they just did is irreversible. It will change everything they know, with no chance of ever going back – she sees it clearly now, with a witch's insight.

They breathe in shaky fragments as unwanted images of possible distant futures form behind her closed eyelids.

When she catches Damon's face between her hands, she forgets fearing what they might become together.

She lets her telekinetic power reach out and switch on the floor lamp close to the closet.

A dim, violet light casts its eerie glow over the bedroom and at last, Bonnie can look into his features while she rides him. She likes what she sees.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time they share both a bed and breakfast room and a king sized bed, it's purely intentional. Damon signs them in as an official couple and Bonnie implicitly agrees by allowing him to.

It's the night after the first night they had sex, and they still have not even tried to address the subject of how their relationship is changing. They have not exactly denied anything either, but silent acknowledgement has been the key so far.

Their body language toward each other is slightly different – they move nearly in synch around each other now, and there's the way she no longer steps back whenever he invades her personal space. The way their hands and shoulders brush casually when they walk side by side.

This time around they will stay in the town they are scavenging for a couple of the days, maybe more. There's a fresh trail on a Bennett witch that stayed here for a few months before disappearing.

Damon feels restless and he doesn't know how much of it is related to his inborn dislike for provincial small towns like this one and how much of it is his body aching to take the witch again. He has never been used to abstaining from his wishes, but he has been trying to wait her out, to let her make the first move when it comes to being intimate with each other again. He thinks of her as a particularly wild, stubborn frilly you need to not scare off with excessive rashness if you want to tame her.

He's half sure that their night will go very much like their first if he plays his cards well.

Unfortunately, his plans go to hell when the witch falls asleep instantly as soon her head hits the pillow.

He is annoyed although there's a side of him that recognizes he should have anticipated this. Bonnie was sore and easily exhausted all day which made him more smug than she liked.

Stretching resignedly at her side, Damon lets his eyes drink her petite figure up. Despite the power that lives inside her body, she looks tiny and breakable curled like that on the mattress. The dark ringlets that frame her beautiful face, her lovely full lips, her cheekbones, the mocha shade of her skin - he likes the exotic innocence of the whole the ensemble so much that he wants to imprint it in his memory forever.

But no, if he is to be honest, at least with himself, he must acknowledge that his feelings go quite beyond liking.

Liking is reserved for barely impressive things. This is like being moved.

Bonnie Bennett is everything he had hungered for in Katherine (the fierceness, the pride, the willfulness, the power, sharpness in mind and tongue) and everything he ridiculed in Stefan (the idealism, the savior complex, the leanings toward martyrdom): this alone used to both irritate him and awake his lust.

The road-trip changed everything, forcing him to see that he didn't miss anyone or anything when the little witch was nearby all the time, because when Bonnie is close it is just natural to become absorbed completely with her very presence.

This is not obsession – it has too much tenderness laced in it.

It's not love either, or at least it's not love the way he has experienced it before. It's a dark, powerful feeling that urges him to protect and possess; a persistent whim to be Bonnie's master coupled with the just as constant need to be her servant. He wants her but he doesn't want to change himself for her the way he did for others – he wants that she takes him for all that he is and care anyway.

So Damon closes his eyes and listens to the soft patterns of her breathing, in and out, so even, so light and fragile.

Her heartbeat echoes in the darkness between them as the vampire relaxes, allows his mind to drift away in those sweet sounds. His limbs grow slowly relaxed and he falls into a state of pleasant drowsiness, until her scent reaches his nostrils and becomes so poignant that he feels possessed by it.

It's vanilla and rum, blood and peaches, coffee and chocolate – a heady mix that makes him drunk and very anxious to taste her on his tongue. He slithers closer, close enough that his nose is brushing her curls and inhales her deeply.

He drapes a possessive arm around her waist and tries really hard to be content with that. It lasts about five full minutes before he gets greedy and runs his lips against her nape. From there on, it's pretty easy to keep indulging himself by nibbling the sensual curve between her jaw and her shoulder. Her delicious taste brings back in full force vivid, glorious memories of last night, and although his intention is to awake her bit by bit, diligently, his focus on the task falters under the pull of physical responses to her.

He can feel her blood throbbing through her soft flesh, calling for his fangs, and his hands begin to wander while he buries his visage in her hair, jaw rigid with the effort to not bite.

He manages to calm the blood-thirst by focusing on other things: the feeling of her breast under his hand, through the flimsy fabric of her tank top, the texture of her skin as his palm caresses her stomach under the sheet, the plump softness of her ass against his groin.

He is not sure of when he begins to undulate against her, but he notices when Bonnie arches into his touch, her voice groggy as she calls his name.

They move against each other tentatively, only half-stifled grunts and groans breaking the silence. Eventually that languid rubbing of bodies turns a bit more insistent, his cock hard as it seeks more friction against the back of her thighs.

Smelling faint traces of her arousal in the air feeds Damon's hunger to slam into her welcoming wetness, but the fact that she is not as conscious as he is of what they are doing puts a damper on his excitement. He needs to know that she is enjoying this just as much as he is, so he breathes in and focuses, breaks the hazy barrier between his mind and hers to join Bonnie in that dreamy space she still lingers in. Suddenly he can feel what she feels: the lethargic pleasure of her skin against his, the first stirrings of lust fighting to sneak throughout the gentle heaviness of her half-asleep state. Her sensation runs through his nerves like they were his and it's good, a calming draught to his frantic hunger.

In the smoky dreamscape of her mind, her half-formed fantasies slip through his fingers – he can see random snippets of him and her, together, doing wicked things… her languid desire for him makes him dizzy.

He feels her figure shaping itself from the shadows – the glittering, voluptuous image of a goddess that wraps herself around him, touching him everywhere like she has a thousand hands, and he can only merge his more violent emotions with hers.

His release washes away everything – his every sin, his every regret. In her arms he feels pure, all-powerful, and reborn.

He awakes with a confused awareness of the wet spot in his boxers, his face hidden in the warm crook of Bonnie's neck.

"Mmmh," Bonnie grumbles into her pillow, beginning to stir lethargically, "Supernatural dream sex is the best."

Damon smirks at the well-sated sleepiness in her tone. He would be a fool to not agree.


End file.
